


As a Liar, I'm a Ten

by wearenotsaints



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: F/M, How I imagine Zach finding out, I hate this show but it still inspires me to write, I still think it works, Justin is trying to be a good friend, Suicide, Zach and Hannah deserved better, dont ask me why because I dont have answers, post Hannah's death, yes I did in fact switch from Zach to Justin's perspective in the middle of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearenotsaints/pseuds/wearenotsaints
Summary: I know CPR, I know mouth-to-mouth, when your legs give in and your lungs go out, I will blow air into your open mouthOr, Zach finds out about Hannah's death.





	As a Liar, I'm a Ten

**Author's Note:**

> TW: for suicide, but this is 13RW so I guess that's obvious. 
> 
> Title and italics in description from Swear the Devil Made Me Do It by The Front Bottoms

Zach is running wind sprints when the news breaks. Coach standing on the sidelines, eyes on his phone and a frown tugging the corners of his mouth down at the edges. He yells at them to huddle before clearing his throat to speak. It takes him a couple tries.

“Don’t know if any of you were close with her, but Hannah Baker commited suicide this morning.”

There are a few murmured _what the fucks_ , and one _you’re kidding_ before the words catch up to Zach. His body flushes with heat before turning ice cold; he feels lightheaded; he might throw up. Everything feels wrong. And not just the calloused way Coach threw out the news. As if Hannah’s death wasn’t anything more than a headline about some distant tragedy. As if she deserved little more than a passing, obligatory condolence. 

Zach takes a few stumbling steps back before his legs buckle and he collapses to the court’s hardwood surface. People start moving then, someone standing above him, saying his name over and over again, but he might as well be under water. And then Justin is there, his face close enough to focus on, twisted with pain and confusion. His hands feel cool against Zach’s burning cheeks.

“Breathe with me, dude,” Justin mutters, “You gotta fuckin breathe.”

So Zach does, hating every ragged inhale and exhalation for betraying the fact that he’s still here. That he couldn’t seem to stop people from leaving him. First his dad and now Hannah. _Hannah_. Who he’d never told anyone about; opting for safe; opting for the false sense of security his teammates offered when they spoke about ‘brotherhood’. Zach never was known for his bravery. 

Justin helps him to his feet, fingers curling securely around Zach’s wrist as he guides him out of the gymnasium doors and into the night air. 

“I got you. I got you, big guy,” Justin keeps repeating until he stops them in front of Zach’s car. Zach wishes he could find comfort in what Justin’s saying, but he keeps picking up on the hitch in Justin’s breath and how he won’t stop looking away. Like he can see right through Zach, straight into the red pulpy mess of his heart and all the things he didn’t have the courage to say out loud. 

“We dated,” Zach gasps in between the rapid fire stuccato of blood pounding in his ears. “Last summer. She was my first.” 

“Okay.” Justin says and there is so much in those four little letters that Zach can’t put his finger on. Though now he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted something so bad. Except for Hannah. But she’s gone and Zach is here, with Justin in the school parking lot, vomiting up the words he had lodged so far down his throat until it was too late. And they’re so easy to say, now, after the fact. After Hannah.

“I let her go. I just—let her _go_. Like it was nothing. Like _she_ was nothing. I didn’t know what to do, man,” Zach sobs, clutching at Justin’s shirt, as if begging Justin to get it. To absolve him of all his sins, “And the fucked up thing is, I think I loved her. Or something. Because I’ve never felt that. God—”

Justin shushes him again, fisting the back of Zach’s shirt in his fingers when Zach collapses against him. There is a growing patch of wet blossoming across the soft cotton of Justin’s t-shirt. It’s his only clean one and he doesn’t know when he’ll have the chance to wash it again; he’s been avoiding Bryce’s lately. It doesn’t really matter, not in this moment and Justin wonders if it makes him a bad person to be thinking of himself when Hannah Baker is dead. Or at least more of one. 

“I’m sure she understood,” Justin mumbles for lack of anything better to say, he can at least give Zach this, “You’re a good guy, Zach.” Zach lets out a harsh bark of laughter,

“But I’m not. I’m really fucking not.” 

Justin honestly can’t argue with that because they’re all terrible people in their own ways. Ways that maybe matter too much and too little at the same time, or at least won’t change anything. Won’t bring Hannah back. He hates Zach suddenly, so sharp that it feels like a punch to his gut and his hands slip against the wide expanse of Zach’s back. He might hate him because of what Zach and Hannah shared; the thing Justin never got the chance to have, because he was afraid or because of the things he figured he owed Bryce. He might hate Zach because he’s breaking open in a way Justin can’t afford to; because Zach’s losses are ones he doesn’t have to carry alone. Zach has a home and a family and a future Justin won’t have a shot at. Zach is being selfish. Justin wants to hit him. Then just as quickly, the hatred dissipates and Justin is once again sagging into his friend. 

They stay like that, slumped against each other for a few more moments before Zach takes a shuddering breath and straighten up. Their teammates will start trickling out of the gym soon, making their way towards their cars, discussing the news in the brash, loud way jocks do. Badly timed jokes and laughter like the grinding of metal on mental, jarring and unpleasant in its abruptness. Zach tries to school his face back into some semblance of normal, whatever that looks like now. Justin watches him do it. Counts the number of times Zach fails before he manages to look something like he did half an hour ago. Justin wonders what his own reflection would show.  


“Thanks,” Zach says, voice pitched low, eyes darting around at the tell tale voices now drifting across the blacktop, “Wanna get outta here?”

Justin hesitates, thinks of asking if Zach is alright to drive before he drags the back of his hand across his mouth and shrugs, “Yeah, okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you or someone you know needs help please call the National Suicide Hotline (US) 1-800-273-8255  
> Available 24 hours everyday
> 
> *
> 
> Cuddle me at tumblr.com/juliangohome


End file.
